


we are dust

by apricae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Force Ghost(s), Gen, Platonic Relationships, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricae/pseuds/apricae
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi dies.It's the beginning.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 114





	we are dust

_let there be light, let there be light–_

  
  


Their duel (the duel that isn’t a duel, it’s a greeting and a farewell) is drawing to a close when he feels it. Between his own weary breaths and the aching of his body — a warm presence at his back, a beckoning hand. 

The veil is thinning. 

_So_ , he thinks. _This will be the end of it_. Obi-Wan Kenobi is too much of a Jedi to lament his departure from the living world, but he feels a sting. A mild sorrow, that he must say farewell with a blade. 

Darth Vader ( _Anakin_ , his heart screams, _oh Anakin, what have you done?_ ) is ruthless as he presses the attack, and a glance askance confirms what he felt; Luke’s bright-star presence in the Force, headed for safety, next to the supernova of his sister. Good. All is as it should be. She will take care of him. His affairs are in order, and it’s time to pack it in.

The ever-familiar presence, right behind him, whispers _Now._ _Let go, Obi-Wan. It’s time_. 

So like any good Padawan, he does as his Master tells him; he closes his eyes. 

And he lets go.

At first, it’s free-fall; the crackle of a lightsaber cutting the air, closer, _closer_ , then the acute agony that is the memory of Anakin’s eyes, and the lurch that comes with falling backwards—

Red fire– _Anakin’s eyes_ – Stars wheeling overhead and—

“I have you.”

Warm, strong hands. Safety. No longer falling, _caught_ , his eyes wide open and seeing nothing at all. The hangar bay is gone. Obi-Wan blinks and blinks and sees nothing but warm yellow light. 

Dust drifts in the beams. 

He thinks of the temple, suddenly. As a child, chasing the dust particles in the sunlight, and he can hear the laughter from far away, feel the dizziness of chasing friends through the long hallways. Warm, strong hands at his shoulders. He is held.

“I have you, Padawan. I have you.”

The unclear, flimmering light. His head full of laughter and then screams. He is crying, he realises, that is why the world wavers so. He is crying, soft gentle sobs impossible to hold back, his breath hitching in his chest. 

Those hands release him again, and he stands for a moment, looking through the endless beams of soft afternoon sunlight filtering in through windows high up and far away. He tries to wipe his tears but there are fresh ones to take their place, wetting the sleeve of his tunic. 

He has to laugh a little. He left his robe behind in the material world. How typical.

“I’m dead,” he says, voice small. “It’s over.”

“No,” says the voice that is warmth and safety. “It’s the beginning.”

At last he turns, and looks, and is undone again. Qui-Gon smiles like he always did, standing whole and tall and patient in the bright sunlight. There are the hands that caught Obi-Wan, pulled him from the streams of the Cosmic Force into this place, this–

Seeing the confusion on his face, Qui-Gon laughs.

“Not now, Padawan. That comes later. Much later.”

He still smiles. Obi-Wan is smiling, too. Smiling and crying.

Qui-Gon opens his arms, so he goes, easily, with the eagerness of the Padawan he always felt he still was. He runs the four short steps and throws himself into Qui-Gon’s hold. There is no need for restraint here, he knows, somehow. No need for detachment. No need for distance. He grasps at Qui-Gon’s familiar rough-woven tunic and sobs. 

“I missed you,” he says, even if Qui-Gon knows. “I _missed_ you.”

Warm, warm arms around him, the safety of a broad chest, the scent of tea and linen and the soap Qui-Gon liked. Obi-Wan lets himself be held together, feeling he might fly apart at the seams any second now, but time doesn’t matter, nothing matters, because Qui-Gon runs a hand through his hair. 

“I have you, Padawan. _Obi-Wan_.”

His name in Qui-Gon’s rumbling voice. The Force gives such tremendous gifts. He can sense Qui-Gon’s sorrow for him, his regret and his guilt (all of which is long-since forgiven, by the grace of being Obi-Wan Kenobi) and the simple, uncomplicated joy of their reunion. 

He can sense the smile upon his old Master’s face when he drops a single, gentle kiss to the top of Obi-Wan’s head, smiling against hair that has regained its golden auburn shine. Belatedly he realises what the windows are, where the light is from; he laughs again, his fingers curled in Qui-Gon’s robe without any intention of letting go. They are in the temple halls, untouched and slightly dusty as it was in his youth. Qui-Gon can sense the moment recognition dawns on him, and chooses this moment to say words Obi-Wan has so longed for–

“Welcome home.”


End file.
